Chapter Twenty-five

The taxi lurched to a halt, and Ford and Arthur jumped out. They had
stopped at quite a number of cash-dispensers on the way, and Ford
chucked a fistful of money through the window at the driver.

The entrance to the club was dark, smart and severe. Only the smallest
little plaque bore its name. Members knew where it was, and if you
weren't a member then knowing where it was wasn't any help to you.

Ford Prefect was not a member of Stavro's though he had once been to
Stavro's other club in New York. He had a very simple method of
dealing with establishments of which he was not a member. He simply
swept in as soon as the door was opened, pointed back at Arthur and
said, `It's OK, he's with me.' He bounded down the dark glossy
stairs, feeling very froody in his new shoes. They were suede and they
were blue, and he was very pleased that in spite of everything else
going on he had been sharp-eyed enough to spot them in a shop window
from the back of a speeding taxi.

`I thought I told you not to come here.'

`What?' said Ford.

A thin, ill-looking man wearing something baggy and Italian was
walking up the stairs past them, lighting a cigarette, and had
stopped, suddenly.

`Not you,' he said. `Him.'

He looked straight at Arthur, then seemed to become a little confused.

`Excuse me,' he said. `I think I must have mistaken you for someone
else.' He started on up the stairs again , but almost immediately
turned round once more, even more puzzled. He stared at Arthur.

`Now what?' said Ford.

`What did you say?'

`I said, now what?' repeated Ford irritably.

`Yes, I think so,' said the man and swayed slightly and dropped the
book of matches he'd been carrying. His mouth moved weakly. Then he
put his hand to his forehead.

`Excuse me,' he said, `I'm trying desperately to remember which drug
I've just taken, but it must be one of those ones which mean you can't
remember.'

He shook his head and turned away again, and went up towards the men's
room.

`Come on,' said Ford. He hurried on downstairs, with Arthur following
nervously in his wake. The encounter had shaken him badly and he
didn't know why.

He didn't like places like this. For all of the dreams of Earth and
home he had had for years, he now badly missed his hut on Lamuella
with his knives and his sandwiches. He even missed Old Thrashbarg.

`Arthur!'

It was the most astounding effect. His name was being shouted in
stereo.

He twisted to look one way. Up the stairs behind him he saw Trillian
hurrying down towards him in her wonderfully rumpled Rymplon\TM. She
was looking suddenly aghast.

He twisted the other way to see what she was looking suddenly aghast
at.

At the bottom of the stairs was Trillian, wearing... No --- this was
Tricia. Tricia that he had just seen, hysterical with confusion, on
television. And behind her was Random, looking more wild-eyed than
ever. Behind her in the recesses of the smart, dimly lit club, the
other clientele of the evening formed a frozen tableau, staring
anxiously up at the confrontation on the stairs.

For a few seconds everyone stood stock still. Only the music from
behind the bar didn't know to stop throbbing.

`The gun she is holding,' said Ford quietly, nodding slightly towards
Random, `is a Wabanatta 3. It was in the ship she stole from me. It's
quite dangerous in fact. Just don't move for a moment. Let's just
everybody stay calm and find out what's upsetting her.'

`Where do I fit?' screamed Random suddenly. The hand holding the gun
was trembling fiercely. Her other hand delved into her pocket and
pulled out the remains of Arthur's watch. She shook it at them.

`I thought I would fit here,' she cried, `on the world that made me!
But it turns out that even my mother doesn't know who I am!' She flung
the watch violently aside, and it smashed into the glasses behind the
bar, scattering its innards.

Everyone was very quiet for a moment or two longer.

`Random,' said Trillian quietly from up on the stairs.

`Shut up!' shouted Random. `You abandoned me!'

`Random, it is very important that you listen to me and understand,'
persisted Trillian quietly. `There isn't very much time. We must
leave. We must all leave.'

`What are you talking about? We're always leaving!' She had both hands
on the gun now, and both were shaking. There was no one in particular
she was pointing it at. She was just pointing it at the world in
general.

`Listen,' said Trillian again. `I left you because I went to cover a
war for the network. It was extremely dangerous . At least, I thought
it was going to be. I arrived and the war had suddenly ceased to
happen. There was a time anomaly and... listen! Please listen! A
reconnaissance battleship had failed to turn up, the rest of the fleet
was scattered in some farcical disarray. It's happening all the time
now.'

`This is not your home,' said Trillian, still keeping her voice
calm. `You don't have one. We none of us have one. Hardly anybody has
one any more. The missing ship I was just talking about. The people of
that ship don't have a home. They don't know where they are from. They
don't even have any memory of who they are or what they are for. They
are very lost and very confused and very frightened. They are here in
this solar system, and they are about to do something
very... misguided because they are so lost and
confused. We... must... leave ... now. I can't tell you where there is
to go to. Perhaps there isn't anywhere. But here is not the place to
be. Please. One more time. Can we go?'

Random was wavering in panic and confusion.

`It's all right,' said Arthur gently. `If I'm here, we're safe. Don't
ask me to explain just now, but I am safe, so you are safe. OK?'

`What are you saying?' said Trillian.

`Let's all just relax,' said Arthur. He was feeling very tranquil.
His life was charmed and none of this seemed real.

Slowly, gradually, Random began to relax, and to let the gun down,
inch by inch.

Two things happened simultaneously.

The door to the men's room at the top of the stairs opened, and the
man who had accosted Arthur came out, sniffing.

Startled at the sudden movement, Random lifted the gun again just as a
man standing behind her made a grab for it.

Arthur threw himself forward. There was a deafening explosion. He
fell awkwardly as Trillian threw herself down over him. The noise
died away. Arthur looked up to see the man at the top of the stairs
gazing down at him with a look of utter stupefaction.

`You...' he said. Then slowly, horribly, he fell apart.

Random threw the gun down and fell to her knees, sobbing. I'm sorry!'
she said. `I'm so sorry! I'm so, so sorry...'

Tricia went to her. Trillian went to her.

Arthur sat on the stairs with his head between his hands and had not
the faintest idea what to do. Ford was sitting on the stair beneath
him. He picked something up, looked at it with interest, and passed it
up to Arthur.

`This mean anything to you? he said.

Arthur took it. It was the book of matches which the dead man had
dropped. It had the name of the club on it. It had the name of the
proprietor of the club on it. It looked like this:

STAVRO MUELLERBETA

He stared at it for some time as things began slowly to reassemble
themselves in his mind. He wondered what he should do, but he only
wondered it idly. Around him people were beginning to rush and shout a
lot, but it was suddenly very clear to him that there was nothing to
be done, not now or ever. Through the new strangeness of noise and
light he could just make out the shape of Ford Prefect sitting back
and laughing wildly.

A tremendous feeling of peace came over him. He knew that at last, for
once and for ever, it was now all, finally, over.

In the darkness of the bridge at the heart of the Vogon ship,
Prostetnic Vogon Jeltz sat alone. Lights flared briefly across the
external vision screens that lined one wall. In the air above him the
discontinuities in the blue and green watery sausage shape resolved
themselves. Options collapsed, possibilities folded into each other,
and the whole at last resolved itself out of existence.

A very deep darkness descended. The Vogon captain sat immersed in it
for a few seconds.

`Light' he said.

There was no response. The bird, too, had crumpled out of all
possibility.

The Vogon turned on the light himself. He picked up the piece of paper
again and placed a little tick in the little box. Well, that was
done. His ship slunk off into the inky void.

In spite of having taken what he regarded as an extremely positive
piece of action, the Grebulon Leader ended up having a very bad month
after all. It was pretty much the same as all the previous months
except that there was now nothing on the television any more. He put
on a little light music instead.